


Bail

by buttercups3



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Blackout
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-30 00:23:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1011812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttercups3/pseuds/buttercups3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben Matheson goes home to Jasper, Indiana, for his wedding and ends up bailing his lil' brother out of jail. Brotherly feels, fluff, and a smidge of angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bail

“So what does a person do for fun around here, Ben?” Rachel asks with a half-judgmental, half-amused quirk of eyebrow. She flips her spectacular honey-colored waves in a manner that still sets Ben’s heart aflutter. After all, they’ve only been dating a year, and this will take many, many more to get old.

Ben had always imagined that it would require an apocalypse to get him home again, to sit in the very chair of his boyhood trauma at the circular kitchen table, where Dad alternated between sullen silence and grating critique – Miles’ grades were shit, Ben never did the yard work, if their mother were still alive she’d be ashamed at how much lip they give their father…and all the rest. So what the hell is Ben doing here in this still-quaint but now slightly dilapidated memory-prison that Ben and Miles eternally pretend they’re trying sell but can’t sufficiently wade through the nostalgia to _actually_ sell? Ben’s here because of love, of course. Or, more specifically, because of marriage.

“Hey, you’re the one who insisted on the small-town feel for our wedding.” Ben smiles to hide his discomfort.

Ben and Rachel had argued for a solid month about where to hold the wedding, since neither cares for their respective childhoods. Rachel insists on marrying Ben outdoors – the closest thing either of them knows to church – and Ben’s hometown is much closer than Willoughby, Texas, where Rachel grew up, and cheaper than Chicago, where Ben is still in grad school and Rachel is finishing her BS. So there you have it: Jasper, Indiana, despite being the center of the redneck universe, just makes practical sense. Despite the turkey camouflage, the gun nuts, and the busybodies, Rachel appears inexplicably taken with the place. Besides, the only guests from town who’ll attend the small wedding will be Miles and his makeshift brother (in Miles’ eyes the _superior_ brother) Bass. Ben feels no obligation to the chorus of nosey neighbors he suffered growing up. Nothing made him happier than the day he packed his rusty hatchback to the gills and left town for college.

“We could have had the same in Texas,” Ben reminds Rachel, even though it’s a moot point with the wedding two days off. Rachel’s dad would have helped pay, but Rachel has this odd, noble streak where she revels in refusing help from anyone. Even Ben. Don’t get Ben started on the trauma of suggesting they open a joint bank account.

“I hated growing up in Texas. ‘Sides, this time a’ year, it’s hotter than a June bug in a skillet,” Rachel puts on an unsettlingly sugary Texas accent with a wink. Ben takes comfort in the fact that he’s not the only one with a past he’s ashamed of.

Ben peers at his soon-to-be-wife through the part of his floppy hair. “ _Right_. While here in Indiana, it’s like a June bug drowning in hot oil.”

Rachel smiles and returns to her normal, non-inflection: “Your town's very sweet and humble, Ben. The gazebo with all the roses? Charming.”

Rachel, for her part, has had no end of amusement since they’d gotten to town yesterday. Ben is obstinately private about his childhood, insisting he scarcely recalls it, so Rachel has taken like a detective to the scraps of his past. There is the watering hole that Ben and Miles fished in as boys, there the tree they planted with their father. In a way, this town is Ben’s sole surviving parent, as evidenced by Ben’s uncharacteristically dramatic love-hate relationship to it. Sure, somewhere in Florida Ben’s father is presumed alive, but he’s long since cut off contact with his boys. And Rachel has no respect for that abominable man.

“Where’s your brother tonight, Ben?” she asks. Miles got to town yesterday morning with Sebastian Monroe, and the whiff of sensitivity surrounding all things Ben’s little brother has not been lost on Rachel. She tries to tread lightly, but she’s only met Miles once before, and she can’t help but be intrigued by the one humanoid link to Ben’s obscure past.

“What is your weird fascination with my brother?”

“Ben. I just want to know you.”

Ben catches himself overreacting and relaxes his shoulders. Perhaps he’d do better to admit aloud that Miles is a source of tremendous stress to him, a walking time bomb. Ben can never shake the odd mix of responsibility and familial loathing that swirls up at the mere sight of his brother’s chestnut hair and dirt-brown eyes. He loves Miles, of course. Worries about him, and damn if there isn't there plenty to worry about – the war, the drinking, the stupid heroics. It’s easier to avoid thinking about him.

“Miles and I have nothing in common, so what could you possibly learn from him about me?” It comes out more hostile than intended. See, Miles has a way of messing things up even when he’s not around.

Rachel scoots back from the table to enwrap Ben in a hug from behind. “Well. Losing your mother at such a young age must have been hard on both of you.”

Ben jumps a little. Rachel and the laser-beam brain. It cuts to things you didn’t even know you were thinking. Before he has a chance to fumble an answer there is a rambunctious knock at the front door, and Sebastian Monroe bursts in like he owns all things Matheson.

Rachel is briefly transfixed by the sweaty, bouncing curls. She’s not quite sure what to make of Sebastian. He is dramatic, self-obsessed, hyper, and irritatingly handsome. As much as she wants to dislike him for his chauvinistic antics, she rather likes him anyway. He’s got the most convincing little dimples, and he’s lively as hell, especially when paired with his dour companion. _Where is Miles, anyway?_

“Hi, uh…Did Sheriff Railton call?” Bass gasps, like he’s run a mile to intrude upon their peaceful (boring) evening. His shirt is buttoned wrong, and he reeks mildly of…weed?

Ben glances at Rachel. _Oh boy_ , she’s got a goofy little grin on her face that suggests, _Adventure!_ , while he feels a twinge of impending doom. _Where is Miles?_

“David?” Ben asks, wondering what David Railton has to do with anything, and then his brain clicks into place. Of course. Miles must be in trouble. _Shit_.

“Um…just checking!” Bass attempts to confidently stride toward the front door, but Ben blocks his exit.

“Bass…” Ben uses the threatening, fatherly tone Miles and Bass revel in mocking, stirring in Ben a familiar soup of contempt and amusement.

“What is going on?” Rachel interjects.

Ben suddenly realizes that she has none of the background to comprehend this shorthand. “I assume Miles got arrested,” Ben says, his eyes locking with Bass’ in challenge.

Bass holds Ben’s gaze. “Railton’s had it in for Miles ever since Miles beat him out for running back in high school, Ben. You know that.”

“Uh huh. So what did Miles do?”

Bass just stares at Ben, smirking, while Rachel walks over, perhaps scandalized or perhaps just excited to finally have something to do. Ben isn’t willing to break gaze with Bass to find out.

“Miles couldn’t hold on for two more days until my wedding? Don’t tell me it’s a DUI. He’ll get kicked out of the Marines!”

Bass shrugs. “Calm down. He got taken in for disorderly conduct. He…hehe, he pissed on the Widow Brown’s lawn.”

“Oh for crying out loud!” Ben finally surrenders his face into his hands. It’s too ludicrous to bear.

“To be fair, Miles was probably too wasted to know what he was doing. He actually _likes_ the Widow Brown…I think. Sometimes it’s hard to tell with him.” Bass appears to ponder this for a moment, bottom lip protruding.

Rachel stifles the urge to burst out laughing. Maybe she should be annoyed, because this is happening so close to her wedding, but when it’s not _your_ fucked-up family, it’s hilarious. Perhaps tomorrow when her divorced parents are scheduled to arrive, she’ll join Ben in crying into her hands, but until then, she’ll luxuriate in the Matheson dysfunction.

“Look, Ben. I’ll bail him out. Just leave it to me.” Bass appears antsy, like he wants to get this over with. Of course, he could just be high.

“Oh no, we’re coming,” Ben grumbles, staying Rachel’s hand as she reaches for the car keys. “No need, Rache. Sheriff’s office is a block away. Bass, why the hell didn’t you control him?”

“I was on a date! I’m not his babysitter,” Bass huffs pounding down the steps in front of them.

“A _date_ , huh?” Ben rolls his eyes, as Rachel tries to parse the tone.

“Well fine, not a date. I was _indisposed_ ,” Bass corrects with a grin that on anyone without dimples might be lurid.

 _Oh_ , Rachel realizes. She shakes her head.

At the sheriff’s office, Bass and David Railton immediately begin arguing, as if they’ve been locked in a decades-long disagreement they’ve seamlessly reengaged. 

Ben finally interrupts to say, “David, if it’s all right with you, I’d like a word with my brother. _Alone_.”

“Aw, come on, Ben,” Bass interjects. “He’s probably still drunk. You really think anything you say is going to penetrate his thick skull?”

Railton unlocks the door to the back and shoos Bass away, who plops down next to Rachel and starts jiggling his knee.

Cold grief washes over Ben as he makes out the deflated form of Miles, slumped forward on the bench. Ben will never stop seeing his kid brother as the nine-year-old perched too close to him on the couch the night of their mother’s funeral. How Ben could almost smell the need for comfort intermingled with the sweat-urine stench Miles always seemed to impart back then. Utterly bereft himself, Ben had no affection to offer that night, and he felt somehow, after all these years, that that one moment in which he'd let Miles down had rended their bond forever.

“Miles,” Ben calls, and instantly, Miles’ private agony evaporates, replaced by the obnoxious bravado. Miles gets up and swaggers over to the bars, leaning against them like, _I might be the one in the cage, but if you mock me, I will bite._

“Why are you here, Ben? I called Bass.”

No surprise that the first thing out of Miles’ mouth is spite.

“A thank you for bailing me out would be nice.”

“If you’ve bailed me out, then why are we talking across metal bars?”

Well, Miles isn’t dumb. He senses what’s coming, and even though Ben doesn’t want to, when it comes to family, you’ve got no choice: You must play your scripted part.

“Maybe I _shouldn’t_ bail you out.” Ben pretends for a moment that he was considering it, though both of them know that’s Bass’ job. “Maybe it would do you some good to sit in here for a night and sober up.” 

“I _am_ sober.”

Ben studies Miles for a moment, and it’s true, besides the bloodshot, raw-looking eyes, he doesn’t look so bad. Perhaps the humiliation of getting hauled into his old rival's cruddy cell served as a bucket of ice water to his ego.

“Miles, is it too much to ask you to hold it together for my wedding? Haven’t I done enough for you that I at least deserve that?”

This has more of an effect on Miles than Ben would have predicted. 

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Miles offers wearily. "It wasn’t easy getting leave right now, but Bass and I...we’re here.”

The weariness – that’s how it always is when they’re together. They suck the soul out of one another. It shouldn’t be this hard to be around the people you love, should it?

“Oh, Miles,” Ben whispers softly as he plops down on a bench across from the bars.

Miles clears his throat after an eternity. “Ben, give me some credit. I fucked up, I get that. I’m trying…” His voice is crackly.

“This is you _trying_ , kid?”

Miles’ dark eyes flash. He hates it when Ben calls him kid. Ben means it as a term of affection, but they can’t seem to get anything right between them – everything’s a crossed signal.

“Don’t…” but Miles bites his lip instead of pursuing the old fight. It’s possible he’s matured.

“What do you feel as though I’m not giving you credit for?” Ben asks, attempting to capitalize on the possibility that they've grown.

Miles’ lips curl into a smirk-scowl that only _his_ face seems to be able to produce. “I may not have gone to college like you and your _girlfriend_ ,” there’s an odd emphasis on the word that inexplicably unnerves Ben, “but I’m a Marine. And maybe you’ve noticed: we’re at war. It’s not exactly easy.”

Perhaps he’s making excuses for his bad behavior, or perhaps he genuinely craves Ben’s approval. But Ben is too tired to figure it out.

“Yeah, Miles. I’ve noticed. It’s why I didn’t want you to enlist. I don’t want you to die.”

“I’m not gonna die.”

“Yeah? If you don’t die at war, then you’re hell bent on destruction at home. And I’m sick of watching, Miles. It hurts.”

Ben’s surprised at himself, but his voice has cracked from sudden tears. He’s done with this conversation and stands abruptly, striding out of the room.

“Ben!” he hears Miles call.

Ben tries to get past Rachel and Bass, but both of them get in his way, Rachel catching his arm with a tender, worried look in her lake-blue eyes.

“Hey. What happened?”

In contrast, Bass’ electric blues look fierce. “What did you say to him?”

Ben is relieved to find that anger quickly supplants the grief. At least Bass is good for something. “I told him he’s going to ruin his life if he doesn’t stop this!”

“Fuck you, Ben. Did you even ask him?”

Bass looks ready to throw a punch, and Ben moves protectively in front of Rachel. “Ask him _what_?”

Bass shakes his head and sits in an apparent attempt to control himself. “We just got back from Iraq a few months ago. Do you follow the news at all, man? Our unit went through some pretty serious shit. Shit you could have read about.”

“I…I thought you don’t ask about that. I don’t want to…reopen wounds.” Ben regrets this choice of words almost immediately.

Bass is looking at his hands and speaks to them instead of Ben. “I’m going to tell you something, and then you two are going to leave and let me bail out my miserable drunk of a best friend.”

Rachel drifts over to sit by Bass, so Ben follows her lead. 

Bass finally looks at Ben. “He didn’t tell you, right? That he received a Navy Cross?”

Ben feels dumb, but he has no idea what that means. He assumes it’s some kind of award.

“A what?” Rachel asks, and Ben’s grateful she’s here. The ignorance sounds less condemning coming from her.

“It’s the second highest honor for valor a Marine could earn,” Bass explains, shifting his eyes toward Rachel. “Yeah, I figured he wouldn't say anything.”

“What happened?” Rachel asks abruptly, then adds, “if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Miles is a stupid son of a bitch is what happened,” Bass shakes his head. “Our platoon was getting the shit pummeled out of us by enemy fire. Half our guys were pinned down by this one fucking sniper; a bunch of good men went down, our LT included. So in swoops Miles and his goddamn death wish… Without orders, he ran out, exposing himself to this massive field of fire _and_ the frigging sniper; he climbed a fucking _ladder_ to get at the bastard. I have no idea how he’s alive. I swear to God that sniper would have picked off every last one of us if he hadn’t done it, though. And that’s not even the end of it. Miles started to climb back down and had to dive off halfway down, because he got grazed in the calf and did this magnificent somersault in the sand to finally drag off two of our wounded guys to safety, one under each arm. But really, he saved the whole platoon.”

Ben glances at Rachel, whose mouth has fallen open. He realizes he looks the same and clamps his jaw shut. “Jesus,” he whispers. His emotions spin through a manic cycle of awe, then pride, and finally fury that Miles would put himself in such danger.

Bass gets up. “I’ll see you at the bachelor party, Ben.”

Bass is signaling them to leave, but hell if Ben’s going to let Bass tell him what to do. Being bossy is _Ben’s_ job.

Bass gives up on them and heads to the back with the sheriff to retrieve Miles. As Bass goes, they hear him complain, “Four hundred dollars? Shit! Miles, you’re paying me back every cent and not in beers, you engorged cockface!”

Rachel tightens her grip on Ben’s hand while they wait. “You ok, Ben?”

“Yep. Why wouldn’t I be?”

She leans her head against his shoulder, sending a plume of pleasant lavender scent in his direction. “I guess bravery is a family trait.”

Ben’s started by her declaration. “Hm?” But Bass and Miles have emerged, so he can't ask what about that description could possibly befit him.

“I can’t believe you pissed on the Widow Brown’s lawn, man. What were you thinking?” Bass is launching over his shoulder at his slouching friend.

Miles deadpans, “She has a nice bush.” Bass laughs and reaches back to ruffle Miles’ hair in admiration.

Rachel rolls her eyes at them and stands. “You two are such trouble makers. I never had brothers before. I’m not sure I can handle the sheer idiocy of this much testosterone.”

“Oh Rachel. This is hardly the dumbest thing Miles has ever done,” Ben offers with a minute smile at his brother.

Bass nods happily. “Oh yeah. Remember the time Miles decided to jump buck naked off Mr. Grayson’s barn into his hay?”

“That was your idea!” Miles objects. 

“Yeah, but you did it first! And I sat there laughing while that old skinhead chased you through his field, your dick wagging all the way home.”

Rachel snorts in laughter.

“Well.” Miles shrugs. “Grayson’s a fucking racist. He deserves what he gets.”

“No body deserves to have to look at your hairy ass,” Bass clarifies.

Rachel can’t help but laugh at the sulky look that produces in the perpetually brooding Miles.

Ben chuckles and says to her, “Aren’t you _so_ glad you decided to have our wedding in my home town?”

“Yes, actually. This all feels very…homey.”

Miles looks at Rachel like she’s crazy.

In a moment, they’re at the front steps of the Matheson homestead again.

“You guys coming in?” Rachel asks hopefully, because she hasn’t experienced the same lifetime of rejection from these two that Ben has. He sighs at her sweet naiveté.

“Nah, we’ll go back to my parents,” Bass explains with a grin.

Yep, the perpetual kiss off. However, maybe Rachel isn’t the only one who’s allowing their impending wedding to give rise to impractical optimism, because unbidden from Ben’s mouth erupts, “Miles. Bass just told us about your medal.”

Miles slays Bass with a _You fucking traitor_ glance.

“Kid,” Ben continues, accidentally employing the hated epithet, “You have no idea how much that is my worst nightmare. You putting yourself in danger like that. But I'm so glad you came home for my wedding.” _**So** grateful you're alive._ "And I'm really proud of you." With that, Ben gathers his brother’s tall, lean body into his arms. Ben’s glad he can’t see the probable shock on Miles’ face, because it feels too damn good to hug him after all these years. 

Ben says quietly to Miles through the embrace, hoping no one else hears this part, because this _truly_ is his worst fear, “I don’t want you to think I’m like dad. You know I love you, and I just don’t want you to ruin your life.”

Miles pulls away first, looking embarrassed indeed, but answers, “I know. You’re not like dad at all.”

Ben feels enormous relief as Miles and Bass hastily depart. Tucking Rachel under his arm, Ben is suddenly, inexplicably ready to start his own family.


End file.
